When I first met her, my mouth was dry and my knees were wobbly, my vision blurred and I couldn’t think straight.
Fuck, I was so drunk.
She must’ve taken pity on me lying there on the ground with a smile on my face. I woke up with her number in my top pocket that read “Call me when you’re sober x”. I must have made quite the impression. I wonder if she noticed the piss stains in my pants.
The second time I met her I put on my clothes, brushed my teeth, puked with anxiety, brushed my teeth again and ran out the door. It was only coffee but I was nervous as hell. I got to the café an hour early and had three cups while I flipped her note over and over in my hand and rolled her face over and over in my head.
I questioned my ability to fully remember her, but as soon as she sat down across from me with a generous and open smile, I knew. She was beautiful, even more so when she leant over the table and pushed the bottom of my mouth shut. She giggled. I wondered how I got so lucky, then came to the realisation that it must have been my stunning, yet rugged, good looks and my charming personality that she couldn’t resist. Yeah, that’s it.
We went for a walk and I chatted her up and down with my eyes while she smiled with a look in hers that said “you creep.” But she still smiled, right? The whole experience was quite intoxicating and yes, I wanted to piss my pants again, this time with nerves and excitement.
I wanted to be all the spaces to fill in her gaps. I wanted to map out her mind, body and soul and know every grain of sand on the beach. I wanted to touch her softly, but I kept my hands in my pockets and gave her some kind of goofy, seductive grin. I wanted to kiss her, I wanted to smell her hair, I wanted to be with her.
I wanted to vomit.
(Source: mister-selfdestruct)
